A Strawberry Sunrise ii
by Bee
Summary: Continued from part 1.


Strawberry Sunrise, 2/2

By Bee 

Disclaimer & other crap in part 1 :-)

* * *

If this diner is only remembered for one thing, it won't be the courteous staff.

That waitress has been giving us filthy looks since we first came in here yesterday, and it doesn't look as if she's in any hurry to stop.

I'm used to not getting the warmest of receptions on cases, but this is ridiculous. Her and Scully seem to be exchanging glares, something which is making me increasingly nervous.

"Scully will you quit it? She'll start spitting in our food or something," I hiss as she looks back at me around her huge milkshake. Until today, I didn't even know that Scully *liked* chocolate milkshakes. Mind you, it's practically ice cream, so I guess that accounts for it. She's become an ice cream junky over the last year or two.

Or maybe she always was and I just never noticed. That's an interesting point, maybe we've become closer than we realise over the last couple of years. I mean, I didn't know her favourite colour until about 5 months ago.

It's deep purple. I remember it specifically, because we walked past a shop window and she mooned over this dark purple silk dress for about two weeks. Apparently, the only reason she didn't rush in there and buy it is that it would clash with her hair.

Women.

"Spit in our food? I think she's more likely to make fish food out of us."

Hmm, who was watching gangster movies on the hotel tv last night I wonder?

And people say *I* overreact...

"Maybe we should just tell Skinner it was Bigfoot and get the hell out of here," I declare morosely, taking the last gulp of my iced tea.

"Yeah, and then we can request sanctuary from Mexico on account of the fact we once investigated the chupacabra."

"Ah, I can almost taste the margaritas."

"Get real," she states, draining the milkshake and looking wistfully at the empty glass.

"Aah, maybe I'm serious. What do you say, Scully? Run away with me to the Yucatan?"

She laughs, a rare occurrence recently, "if you're paying the air fares, you have a deal."

We shake on it, a grin spreading across my face as I rub my hands together. "Talk about selling your soul to Satan, Scully. You don't know what you've just agreed to..."

Her wicked grin grows to match mine, "ooh, a torrid weekend together in a cheap motel? You promise?"

"Weekend? What kind of cheapskate do you take me for? I was thinking more along the lines of a month of sun, sea and making mad, passionate love all day."

She snorts, "if you're sure you've got the stamina, count me in."

If I'm sure I've got the stamina? Gee, thanks.

"Hey, if you couldn't keep up..." 

"Oh, I don't think it would be me having a problem with keeping anything up."

Oh, now she's just being insulting.

"Actually come to think of it, I don't think it would be worth risking death by Bill."

She raises an eyebrow at me, "I think it would be more than worth it..."

If I didn't know better, I'd swear she was serious...

The expression on her face is captivating, her eyes boring into mine, teasing me, enticing me to give her a good retort.

After watching me struggle for words for a lifetime or so she snorts again and stands up, grabbing her coat.

"For that, Mulder, you're paying for the drinks."

I think that's only fair.

"Cases are a hell of a lot easier when you have an actual suspect," I mutter to myself, finally giving up on the tv and switching it off. There's no point trying to concentrate on whatever crap's on, because my mind just isn't on it.

I'm pretty much dividing my time between puzzling over the case and thinking about Scully.

What was it she said before we started the serious flirting? 

"Mulder, people commit suicide every day. Some for less than the reasons I've just listed"

She had the strangest look on her face when she said that...and I'm not certain, but it sounded as if she was speaking from experience.

I didn't want to say anything because I know what she's like. She would only block me out even more, not wanting to admit that she's anything less than perfect.

But that's just it. She *is* perfect, just not for the reasons she imagines.

She's gorgeous, intelligent, strong, funny (when she wants to be), and Jesus, can she argue.

She also tolerates me, which must put her up there with the saints.

To put it bluntly, I love everything about her and it scares the hell out of me.

I mean, yes, she has faults, doesn't everybody? She wouldn't be Scully if she didn't chew her nails when she gets nervous, or if she wasn't one hell of a backseat driver (you're going to fast, Mulder. You should have turned right. Why did you turn right, Mulder?).

I guess if I could change one thing about her, I'd like her to be a bit more honest with me. We're both guilty of keeping our secrets, and I realise that wanting her to be more open is a little hypocritical, but I can't help it.

Maybe I should just try to sleep and forget about her. I sigh, the phrase 'easier said than done' comes to mind...

I vaguely remember having my own dream last night, and I'm not talking about the mutant ice cream one. It was just my usual guilt-trip dream, my subconscious' way of telling me that it's been way too long since I blamed myself for everything that's gone wrong in my own and everybody else's lives.

The strange thing is, that this time my subconscious was a beautiful brown-haired woman, trying to get the point across that my life is hardly worth living.

I think it was at that point that a tub of ice cream with large, pointed teeth came in from Scully's room. The woman gave an annoyed snort and left, just like that.

I have a warped psyche.

* * *

She comes to me again tonight. In the dream, I'm lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, but the ceiling isn't there. Instead, all I can see is menacing-looking clouds, dark and threatening. I hear a noise to my right and know who it is before I even look.

It's her again.

"So what's the topic for tonight? Which method leaves the least mess? Or which is less likely to give Mulder a coronary when he sees me?" My voice sounds eerie, as if detached from me.

"You brought it up, Dana," she says serenely, although for a second I swear I see an almost imperceptible frown dart across her perfect face.

"Did I?" The overwhelming feeling of being manipulated hits me, but only for a second as confusion takes over.

She nods, "you'd considered it long before I showed up. Just as your partner has."

It occurs to me that that revelation was meant to impress me, but I'd worked out that little gem of knowledge practically the day we met.

I sigh, not wanting to dwell on that tonight. "I'm beginning to think that this case is completely hopeless. Even Mulder's beginning to lean towards more mundane explanations."

For some reason she finds this amusing, laughing to herself. "Mundane? Maybe you just aren't looking hard enough."

"Maybe you're right, but I really don't see what else we can do."

She looks almost sad for a moment, "maybe you just aren't involved enough."

Before I have a chance to query this, she speaks again, turning her piercing ice blue eyes towards me. "Do you think he's in love with you?"

I blink in surprise at the sudden change in direction, but don't feel the need or want to question it.

"I...I don't know. Maybe." I start to chew on my thumbnail before catching myself. "I know he loves me. But *in love*? I honestly don't know."

"But the way he's been acting this week..." She trails off, suggesting that he hasn't been *acting* as if he's in love with me.

He *has* been a dick.

"We were okay tonight."

She looks doubtful, "but he rejected you."

I frown uncertainly. He did?

She continues," he implied that a relationship between you wouldn't be worth it, didn't he?"

Well, in a way, if you're really gonna pick faults...

"I don't think he would say that if he was really in love with you, Dana. He did turn you down."

He did, didn't he?

I heave a sigh, "I suppose so... but it isn't as if we were serious or anything, we were only joking around."

Right?

"Oh come on, Dana. All this denial really is not helping. Are you sure you were only joking? Are you sure it was 100% not serious?"

Am I sure? No, I'm not. I'm never sure of anything these days.

"Well, I suppose it wasn't *completely* jokingly, but it didn't mean anything much. We were only..." I shrug, "flirting, I suppose."

Seeing her sceptical expression, I carry on, "But...yeah, there were perhaps...undercurrents of seriousness there. We can't ignore the attraction completely, even if we won't do anything about it."

"And you think that's healthy?"

"I didn't say it was healthy, it's just the way it is between us. Trying to pretend it isn't there may not be the perfect solution, but it's the best one we have."

"Is it?"

I frown, not quite sure what she's getting at, "what do you mean? Are you saying we should just go for it?"

She shrugs prettily, the gesture looking a lot better on her than it does on most people.

"Sure, if you want a few weeks of passion before it all turns sour and makes your life a misery, go ahead."

Ouch.

"But on the other hand, I do have a better idea."

I feel my spirits rise, if only for a second, "go on."

"Leave."

My heart skips a beat as I realise she's serious.

"What? I can't leave him! Not after all we've been through together, not while we're still working on the x files!"

"Dana, you were going to leave him once before, why should now be any different?"

"Maybe so, but our work-"

"Is his quest, not yours. The government's interested in *him*. It's his sister."

I feel as if I should argue with her, but I can't quite manage to get the words out, "your family hate you working with him, you have hardly any good friends left, and let's face it, you're sadly lacking in the sex life department."

Yeah, rub it in why don't you.

"What are you suggesting? That I should just request a transfer? Because Skinner isn't going to go for that, I-"

"Why not just quit?"

"The FBI?"

She nods serenely, and I feel some of my tension easing, even after screeching at her like that.

"But my work is my life. If I don't have that, and I don't have Mulder, there's no point in even living."

That nod again, "maybe you're answering your own question, Dana."

It takes me a moment before what she's saying hits me: she thinks I should do it. Anger flares inside me for a mere fraction of a second, before I'm again filled with hopelessness. I've never felt so out of control of my life.

"I don't want to just give up. It seems wrong," I whisper the last part, my arguments are beginning to sound less and less convincing, I suddenly feel foolish beside this woman - this woman who I know nothing about.

"Don't think of it as giving up, Dana. Think of it as...testing your faith." She stands up as she delivers her speech. "Think of it as a final solution. You know that even if you do leave, you'll only end up coming back, you're not strong enough to leave him for good and you know it. If you do this, you'll never have to see him again, you'll never be ditched, lied to or manipulated. There will only be peace, Dana."

He *does* manipulate me. Just look at the trick he pulled with the office. And she's right. If I ever left him, I wouldn't be able to stay there. I couldn't spend the rest of my life knowing he was there, but not being able to see him. It would kill me. 

So why wait?

"Testing my faith...mom would love that. She always said I didn't value my beliefs as much as I should."

I know I should wait, put more thought into this before making any decision, but I don't get a chance, as she interrupts again.

"Maybe it's time to stop thinking about things and actually *do* something. Because we both know that you can't carry on the way it is." She shakes her head, as if she can't believe my stupidity, "he won't miss you."

I feel a dull pain at that, but it only lasts for a second as I mull over her words. 

She's right.

What do I have to live for? I'm single, have practically no friends, no job prospects, that's for sure (at least not while I'm working on the X files), my family hates me, and I have no - and never can have - children.

What's the point?

The tears spill over as I realise the finality of this. It's over, it's finally over, and there's no turning back. The woman sees me crying and comes over to me, letting me cry softly into her shoulder, although it's only for a second.

I've never been one for crying, why start now?

I close my eyes, briefly seeing Mulder as he pointed a gun at me when we were in Alaska, a slightly unstable look on his face. This isn't the way I want to remember him.

"I...I should at least write him a letter, I have to explain."

"You don't have to do anything, Dana. It isn't as if you *owe* him anything, is it?"

I suppose not. If anything, it's the other way around, because I've saved him too many times to count.

I shake my head, grabbing a piece of paper that's lying on my bed and pulling a pen out of the top drawer of the bedside table.

I write 2 words:

'I'm sorry.'

I really don't think he'd expect anything more.

* * *

I don't feel the cold, although I can hear the wind as I stride through Shoreville, the ground beneath me turning from man-made concrete to natural sand and rock. This is a strange town, no doubt about that.

She's a few steps ahead of me, occasionally turning around, telling me to hurry up before he catches me. I'm not sure who 'he' is, but it strikes me that I don't want to be arguing with her. After all, she's the one who's helping me here. If it weren't for her there would be no escape, I'd be trapped in my pointless life with no way of...escaping. 

I know where we're going. It hasn't been spoken aloud, but it doesn't have to be. We have this connection, me and her. She knows what I'm thinking, and we don't have to waste precious time by discussing our plans.

Which is just as well, because time is definitely of the essence right now.

I hope she knows where she's going, because when we were at the river bank this afternoon we came from the opposite direction, through an old housing estate. This route seems to be practically all open space.

She suddenly whips her head back, uttering a cruel laugh as she stares over my shoulder at something I'm not sure I want to see.

I look anyway, unable to resist the temptation of something possibly interesting. I see a dark haired man, the features impossible to make out at this distance, who seemed to be arguing with another man standing in his way. By the looks of it the dark man was trying to get away, heading in-

Heading in this direction. In fact, he's staring at *me,* taking a step forward as he sees me looking back at him. Whoever he's talking to doesn't seem to be in any hurry though, blocking his path as we turn a corner, no longer in his line of sight.

I breathe a sigh of relief, wondering briefly why it feels wrong. I know that man, I *know* him, he-

"Dana, come on. He's going to catch us."

He's the one following us, the one trying to stop me escaping. I see the river bank approaching and all thoughts of him fly from my mind as the realisation of what I'm about to do hits me.

This is it, it's the end.

And as I stand on the bank, looking down at the dark water swirling beneath me, the calmness hits me.

I look around for her, and am not surprised when I see that she isn't here. She's done her part, now it's up to me to follow through.

I hear a yell from somewhere behind me, paying no real attention to it as I take yet another step forward.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," I whisper, and before I have time to wonder why I'm apologising, I make the jump into the deep water.

The cold hits me as I sink down, not struggling, feeling oddly at peace.

This is it.

* * *

Shit, shit, shit. I swear to god, I am going to kill that stupid bastard if anything happens to Scully. Logically, I know it wasn't his fault, he just wanted to know how the case was going, but he *must* have seen that I'm in a hurry!

And now I can't even see her. Luckily, I know where she's headed, but that doesn't stop the feeling of time slipping away. 

I start running now, wondering why I didn't start earlier. It just hadn't seemed...appropriate. I know how strange that sounds, but I just felt as if I *shouldn't* be running. Again, the feeling comes over me that all is not as it seems, and I run a little faster.

And then I see her.

She's just standing there on the edge of the river, as if contemplating what she's about to do.

I shout to her, my breath coming out in ragged pants. I'm really not as fit as I used to be.

Jesus Christ, she doesn't even turn around. 

My breath stops in my throat as she swiftly jumps into the water, and I speed up, ignoring the protest in my lungs. I tear off my jacket without thinking, aware on some level that it will be more of a hindrance than a help, but not letting it slow my movements down. I also manage to take in the fact that she doesn't seem to be coming back to the surface; that water is obviously as deep as Elaine Calderwood feared. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for something bound to be unpleasant.

As I dive in, the sudden drop of temperature hits me like a ton of bricks, before becoming irrelevant. That sudden plunge has a knack for focusing your mind, making you ignore the outside elements and concentrating on what's important.

Scully.

I flounder around uselessly for a few seconds, the only audible sound being the roaring of the water in my ears. 

I burst back up to the surface, take another huge gulp of air, before diving back down, my determination growing by the second.

Somehow - knowing that with closed eyes this will be even more hopeless - I manage to keep my eyes open in the murkiness of the river, blinking rapidly to combat the stinging, and I glance a brief flash of red beneath me. 

A flash of red which looks suspiciously like my partner's hair.

A surge of hope rushes through me as I dive down deeper, praying desperately to a god I don't even believe in, hoping that my lungs don't burst before I find her.

I make a wild grab beneath me, and to my astonishment manage to grab a handful of Scully's clothing. I have to stop myself from gasping, and instead bring my other arm around to firmly encircle her waist, determined to get her out of this so I can scream at her for being so stupid.

This rescue seems to last for hours, and I have the strange impression of there being no measure of time as I swim flounderingly to the surface. It simply seems to stand still, being neither a help nor a hindrance to the rescue.

The fight for air in my lungs, added to the aching in my legs and arms makes the struggle to the surface all the more difficult, while all the more vital with every second that passes. Shit, she isn't struggling, she doesn't even seem to be moving. I might not be the doctor here, but I know that isn't good. I have to get her to the surface and quickly.

Finally I burst through to the surface, taking in deep gulps of air while making sure I keep Scully's head above the water. I swear to god, oxygen has never felt so good, and I don't even register the cold as I climb out, laying Scully down on the ground.

I check for a pulse, my own heart almost stopping as I find that there is none.

She's not breathing. Fuck, fuck, fuck, she's not breathing.

I double check, praying that I was wrong, and I just didn't notice it.

"Fuck," I mutter. Of all the times for me to be right, it has to be now, doesn't it?

OK, CPR.

Oh god, why didn't I pay more attention on all those first aid courses?

Fortunately my body seems to kick into auto-pilot as I start mouth to mouth.

1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... breathe

1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5 ... breathe

"Come on Scully, don't do this to me," I murmur, and I think there's tears running down my face but I really don't care.

1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ... 5... breathe.

All of a sudden, Scully comes to life, opening her eyes and coughing up what seems to be the entire contents of the river. She manages a groan, and then looks up at me, the expression in her eyes a mixture of shame and gratefulness.

"Mulder, I-"

She doesn't get any further as another wave of coughing hits her, and I sigh, stroking her hair back from her face, almost unable to believe how close I came to losing her.

"Don't try to speak, Scully, okay?" She gives me what under other circumstances could be considered a wry smile.

"I'm supposed to be the doctor here," she manages to splutter as the coughing subsides.

"Yeah, but I'm not the one who just tried to kill myself." Oh yeah, Mr Sensitive indeed.

* * *

As my vision began to clear and all I could see was Mulder, I felt more relieved than I could express. Now, to see him looking at me with a tinge of disgust in those gorgeous eyes, I can't help feeling slightly sorry for myself.

He doesn't understand, that's obvious. But then again, I'm not sure *I* understand why I did it...

I think I've got some explaining to do.

But not yet, I'm not going to even *attempt* to tell him what happened until I'm sure I can get a whole sentence out without coughing.

I hear him sigh and say, "are you okay?"

I nod, trying to sit up without much success. His arms come around me, silently giving me the support I need, although he must be feeling less than generous towards me right now.

He must be a wreck. God knows I would be.

I almost want to laugh at that; I *am* a wreck.

He looks around, "Jesus, we're gonna fucking freeze if we don't move," he sounds agitated, as if he's about to start shouting and screaming at any moment.

"Mulder, calm down!"

He stares at me, "You just tried to fucking kill yourself and you're asking me to calm down? Jesus, Scully, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I don't know! Mulder, I don't have a clue what I was thinking, I don't even think I *was* thinking, okay? I-I..."

I what, exactly? I was told to do it by the woman in my dream? Even Mulder's not delusional enough to believe that.

Time to change the subject here, "Can we talk about this back at the hotel please? I'd rather not catch pneumonia." My voice is cold, my defensive side rearing its head. I know we're going to have to talk about it, but I need time to get my head around what's happened. Or to get my story straight, whatever.

For a second he looks as if he's going to argue, but then he takes a long look around and nods.

"Back to the motel sounds like a good plan." He shoots me a glare, but there's a hint of humour in his eyes, "but if you think you're gonna get out of talking to me by pulling the 'I nearly died I need sleep' routine, you've got another thing coming."

I roll my eyes at him as he helps me to stand up. I sway for a couple of seconds, not quite able to get balanced, but luckily I manage to not black out, and we begin to make our way back to the motel. After he's picked up his leather jacket of course.

"You know where we're going, right?" I ask him as the thought occurs to me for the first time.

"Hey, I followed you."

"Mulder, I was hardly in any fit state to notice anything, let alone give directions." He gives me a look, and I have to admit that my protest sounds weak, even to my own ears.

The thing is though, it's true. I hardly even remember getting here, the only thing that really registered was the cold air and the occasional glance backwards, and even that felt somehow unreal, as if I was detached from it.

It doesn't make sense to *me,* explaining to Mulder's going to be worse.

He grunts, and I can see the anger that's boiling under the surface. Whatever we do say to each other back at the motel, it's not going to be pretty.

* * *

The walk back to the motel is about as bad as I expected. We hardly said a word to one another, and the tension just about killed me.

We're approaching the door to my room now, and I want to go in there just as little as she does. Once we're in, we're gonna have to talk about this, and I'm not sure I want to hear what she has to say.

Before I can say anything, she breaks in, "Mulder, I hope that before you start interrogating me, you're at least going to let me get changed."

For some reason, I feel the anger swell up in me at this remark, "why the hell should I, Scully?"

I hear her sigh as she turns around to face me, "because no matter how angry you are at me, I don't think causing us both to die of pneumonia is the right way to go."

I may not want to admit it, but she has a point. "So get changed then. Whatever." Now I'm behaving like a three year old. This is not good.

She raises her eyebrows expectantly at me, "so are you going to go?"

I don't know what possesses me, "It's not like I haven't seen it before, Scully."

Now she's rolling her eyes. A typical Scully-gesture, "I don't care if you've seen me doing the naked Macarana, you're going to go next door while I get changed!"

I can't help but raise a smile at this as I hold my hands up in surrender and back out of the room, throwing a smirk over my shoulder. 

Sometimes I just don't understand. I don't understand her, I don't understand me, and I sure as hell don't understand where we stand with each other. At times like this I'm pretty sure that if I wasn't so in love with her I would have cheerfully throttled her years ago.

If she didn't get to me first, that is.

Because let's face it, we annoy the hell out of each other. We fight, we snipe, we make each other miserable...

But at the same time there's this feeling...this feeling that it will all be worth it. That one day the suffering will stop, and it will all be worth it.

It's in these rare moments of clarity that I *do* understand. We keep each other sane. As I once said, in a situation that seems so far away, we keep each other honest.

And then something happens. Something like tonight, and I start to wonder again if it's really all worth it. If I shouldn't just get the hell away from her, stop hurting her, stop putting her in danger, and let her live something vaguely resembling a normal life. 

I mean, what the fuck was she thinking? Is she really that miserable? That she'd rather kill herself, end everything, than deal with me?

Am I really so bad?

I quickly pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and stare at the adjoining door for a few seconds. Something is going to be resolved tonight. I don't know what, and I don't know if it will be for the better, but we're going to get things sorted out.

And so help me god, she is going to talk to me. Actually talk.

I need to know what made her do it. I feel as if I deserve at least that much.

I walk in to find her sitting on the edge of the bed, and she looks up solemnly at me, before gazing down at her hands again.

I'm almost surprised when she starts talking.

"Mulder, I...will you at least listen to what I have to say before you go off the deep end?" She winces, perhaps realising what a bad metaphor that is, considering the circumstances.

I shrug and find a chair to sit on.

"I've been thinking about this almost constantly since I came around...trying to make sense of what happened tonight. It's...it's hard, Mulder. I...I'm not sure if I can explain what happened to me."

I sit down next to her, unsure how to approach this. What I say now...it matters. 

"Why?" I almost whisper it, not sure if I want to hear the answer.

She sighs, "I don't know. All I know is that I did want to die. I..." she trails off, noticing the expression on my face.

"No, Mulder. This isn't your fault. I'm not letting you blame yourself this time."

I take a good look at her. She looks exhausted. "If it isn't me, then what is it? Talk to me Scully. Please."

She smiles, the faintest of smiles, but I know that it's taking all of her energy to manage even that. "I'm trying, Mulder. This is difficult. You know that." She pauses, collecting her thoughts, "I dreamed about someone. A woman. I think..." there's that smile again, but this time tinged with her evil sense of humour.

"I think it's time for me to make another appearance in the x-files."

I frown.

"I don't think she was a dream, Mulder. Please don't ask my what I think it was, because I couldn't tell you. But...I didn't do it willingly, Mulder. You have to know that." 

I can see the tears begin to well up in her eyes as she struggles to keep talking, "I couldn't do that to you."

I reach over, and pull her close to me, knowing that she'll talk more when she's ready, and now is not the time.

* * *

I give in to his embrace willingly, sobbing into his chest, for once not caring about keeping my walls up. His arms tighten around me and I can feel his breath, whispering to me that it will be okay, that he's here.

I slip my arms around his waist, my tears starting to subside.

"I'm sorry," I whisper shakily, not ready to look up at him just yet.

I feel him shake his head, his chin lightly rubbing against my hair, "no, I'm the one who should be saying sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you."

"You didn't push me." I look up at his face, surprised to see the tear trails. I untangle one arm form his waist, reaching up to wipe on of the tears away, and give a watery laugh as he does the same to me.

His thumb strays down my cheek, gently caressing, and he pauses at my lips, smiling wistfully at me.

I swear my heart stops beating. 

"Mulder-"

He presses a finger to my lips, and I blink rapidly against the fresh flood of tears. 

He gives me a funny little half smile, and at that second everything else disappears, to quote a cliché. His eyes darken, and I don't dare speak for fear of breaking the moment. For if he were to pull away now, I think it would be more than my heart could bear.

There I go, sounding like a trashy romance novel again. Can't be healthy.

"What are you thinking?" he whispers, the smile drifting from his face, replaced by a completely focussed expression.

I shake my head; "I'm not." 

He raises an eyebrow, "I thought that was my job," and his lips close in on mine before I have time to answer.

His lips are so soft as they finally meet my own...my hands tangle in his hair, and I feel his fingers teasing the back of my neck as the warning light in my brain starts to go off.

Sometimes I really hate my brain, but right now I can see its point.

This is not a good time.

I pull away slowly, amazed at how quickly my lips miss his presence. (I know, I know, trashy romance novel. But I *did* just have a near death experience, that's gotta count for something.)

"I...Mulder, I can't do this." He sighs, and I wince slightly.

"I'm sorry."

Oh, just what I need right now. Guilt-trip Mulder.

"No, it's not you. Don't start that again. I just...I can't deal with this right now. It has nothing to do with you." 

He manages to raise an eyebrow, "as a man, I take that part of the statement as an insult."

Trying to ignore his usual inappropriate sense of humour, I carry on with what I'm saying. "I just..." I lean back on the headboard, the heat within me rapidly fading. "six years of nothing, and then we jump straight into it? I can't do that, Mulder."

He shifts position, coming to sit beside me, and I rest my head on his shoulder, maybe trying to prove that it has nothing to do with him.

He pauses before speaking, and I can't help but think how cute he is when he's unsure of himself. "So...you do want this?"

* * *

She fixes me with a gaze that leaves no doubts as to the answer to my question. 

"Of course I want it. But want...want is not the issue here, Mulder. After everything that's happened tonight...I just think we need to wait. Slow down a bit."

I kiss her lightly on the cheek, and she sighs. "What a mess."

"Scully, if something involving us wasn't a mess, I'd start to worry. This should be expected."

Giving me a weak smile, she nods her head. "You have a point."

"So...what now?" I know that wasn't the subtlest of ways to handle this, but I'm a man. I'm not supposed to be subtle. I'm supposed to be watching football, drinking beer and fiddling unashamedly with my nether regions. But instead I'm here, trying my best to be Mr Sensitive, and not finding it all that easy. Mind you, *I* think I'm doing quite well considering my delicate male ego just took quite a bashing.

"What now?" She shrugs, not something Dana Scully does all that often, "I don't know. You're the psychologist, you tell me."

I give her a look to let her know that no, that comment wasn't helpful. 

She sighs, "I think we should...sleep on it, okay? I'm too tired-" translation from Scully language - emotionally drained, "to even think right now. She looks at me, and I can tell that she has absolutely no idea if she's doing the right thing or not.

I would be happy to know that I'm not the only person in the room who's totally confused, if it weren't for the look on her face.

A vulnerable Scully isn't something that I get to see very often, because - let's face it - she isn't exactly a vulnerable person. Or so she'd like us to think. But when she's like this, her defences down, not an emotional wall in site, all I want to do is hug her. And being the sap that I am, that's exactly what I do, as she shakes with tears in my arms.

After about 20 minutes, her breathing slows and I realise she's fallen asleep. Unfortunately, for me sleep doesn't come quite so easily, and I'm still wide awake and pondering what the fuck just happened for at least an hour.

Life used to be so simple. I'd come in from a hard days work of mutants, serial killers and the like, watch some basketball and perhaps 'read the articles' in one of my 'specialist' magazines. And then They come up with the idea of giving me this little hellraiser as a partner, and everything changes. I then spent my nights watching basketball and thinking about her. Varying thoughts of course. In the beginning I plotted ways to get rid of her, and then somewhere along the way I started worrying about her, and feeling guilty about what I'd put her through. Yup, I also fell in love with her, which was the big bummer.

So now, watching her sleep and failing to reach that state personally, I still can't figure out what happened. Or what's going to happen.

They could at least have partnered me with someone slightly more predictable.

I grin, maybe we're more similar than she'd like to think.

Hearing her mutter something about an emery board in her sleep, I reconsider. No, we're not all that similar, actually.

* * *

Considering the night's events, the last person I expect to see in my dreams tonight is her.

I gaze at her impassively, no longer in danger of falling under the spell.

"Haven't you done enough?"

She merely looks mildly amused, "you can't blame me completely, Dana."

"Maybe not. But it was always a dormant urge in me. There was never any danger of me trying to-" Even now I can't bring myself to say it, "I can blame you as much as I want to."

She shrugs, her dark features no longer looking so attractive. "You can tell yourself that it's completely my fault if it makes you feel better. But don't try to tell me you believe it."

I sigh, not wanting to deal with this, but at the same time unable to contain my curiosity.

"So what are you doing here?"

"Just thought I'd congratulate you." I must look as convinced as I feel, for she carries on, "plus I thought you might have some questions."

I have so many questions that it's impossible to put them all into words. But let's start at the beginning. "What are you?"

A weak smile appears on her face. It's as if all of her powers have gone, she no longer has any control over me, and I don't think she likes it.

"I was like you once. In love with a man I couldn't have, unhappy with life. Then I made the biggest mistake I ever could have." She stops, obviously expecting some audience participation.

Understanding dawns on me, "you killed yourself."

"I did. That was the last piece of free will I was ever able to exercise."

"What, so now you go around trying to make other people as miserable as you are? Is that it?"

Funny, she looks almost hurt. "It's not my choice, Dana."

There's silence for a while, and even in my unconscious state I'm aware of the sleeping body of Mulder beside me. "So why are you here? Why not off terrorising some other poor soul?"

"You won't believe me, but I'm actually here to help."

My derisive snort says it all.

"You can have the man you want, Dana. With me there were circumstances." I can't tell if the wistful look on her face is purely for show. "He was married. But you and Mulder? You can be together, if you'll only allow yourselves to be."

"No we can't. There are thousands of reasons why we can't be together! After seven years, we can't just turn around and say-"

The confusion I felt the last time I was awake is resurfacing, and I frown as I remember how little sense I was making.

"Crap, Dana. Utter crap. The only thing stopping you two is fear. Fear of rejection, fear that it will all fall down around you, fear. And fear is *not* a good reason for you to be unhappy. I know, I see fear every day. Most obviously in you and your partner."

I give an irritated sigh. Time to change the subject, "so what do you do now?"

"Me? I go somewhere else. It's always the same for me. I hang around for a while, until someone doesn't co-operate for whatever reason, then I go somewhere else. Always the same." She smiles sadly, and for an instant I feel a stab of pity for her. Whoever she is - whatever she is, I don't think she enjoys what she does.

"But why?"

"Because I have to. There's no reason other than that, Dana. Because I have to."

So much for life being easier once you're dead.

"You're one of the lucky ones." Oh god, she's off again. "You have a choice. You survived, for one thing. Please, Dana. Get things sorted out with him. Now. Before it's too late for both of you."

I don't want to ask what she meant by that.

I protest weakly, "I can't do it now, can I? I'm still asleep."

She rolls her eyes, a gesture which makes her appear far more human than she has the right to be. 

"Yeah, yeah. That's always the excuse."

And the next thing I know, I'm staring at the ceiling, wide awake. 

I can't help thinking about what she said. Under any other circumstances, I'd assume it was my subconscious speaking, that I was trying to resolve my issues while I was asleep.

But I honestly don't think that's the case here. Now, whether I'll admit that to Mulder in the morning, I don't know. But for now, I'm prepared to think that she was real, and she was right.

I move closer - having somehow rolled away from him sometime in the night - rest my head on Mulder's chest, and wrap an arm around him, not surprised to see his eyes open as he smiles lazily at me.

"Thought you were never gonna wake up," he murmurs, and not for the first time I marvel at his apparent psychic powers.

"Yeah, well...I guess I thought we'd wasted enough time." Jesus, she must still be brainwashing me, I would never willingly say something like that. Right?

He raises an eyebrow, something he's no doubt learned from me, and opens his mouth. I get the feeling he's about to make a comment along the lines of 'you've changed your tune,' so before he gets the chance to ask, I answer his question.

"I had another little visit tonight. Lets just say I think she talked some sense into me."

He looks doubtful, "yeah, if I remember rightly, she's tried that before."

"Mulder, trust me on this one. She...it..." My original choice sounds better. As much as I'd like to think of her as an 'it' she *was* a person. Once. "She doesn't want to be doing this. I...just trust me, okay? This is my decision, and my decision only." I see no need to add an 'I hope' to the end of that sentence.

Before he has the chance to ask me what the hell I'm talking about, I kiss him softly, trying not to laugh at his confused expression.

He shakes his head, "women. One minute they're saying one thing, the next they've changed their minds completely. I really don't get it."

"Mulder, you never will. Just go with it."

He grunts, wisely deciding not to go there, and instead does the next best thing: kisses me again.

Say what you will about him (irresponsible, paranoid, delusional...) but the guy's a great kisser. My earlier concerns fly out of the window, and I'm kissing him back with just as much enthusiasm.

So much for taking things slowly.

* * *

Molko gives us the evilest of glares, looking as if he would cheerfully shoot us both if it weren't for the bad publicity.

"I knew it was a bad idea to get the Feds involved." He spits, the disgusted expression not shifting. "Next time mind your own business."

He gets in his car, slams the door shut, and drives away, not giving us a second glance.

"Well, didn't that go well?" I ponder, assuming from Scully's snort that she agrees with me.

"You know, that's really not very ladylike." 

She sighs, no doubt considering all the unladylike ways in which she could murder me...or maybe considering other things to do to me, I can't tell in this light.

"Mulder, I don't think we handled that very well. Maybe we should have..."

"Lied?"

"That's not what I said."

Yeah, because I interrupted you. "Scully, whatever we said, he was never likely to believe us. We knew that. Ordinarily, *you* wouldn't have believed it."

She screws her face up, and I can tell from her eyes that she's searching for a reply. She seemingly gives up, and shrugs as her face relaxes, "so?"

I laugh - to be honest, I couldn't agree more, and reach down to take her hand as we begin to walk away.

"I think it's time to go home."

"I think you're right."

* * * * *

Strawberry Sunrise, I'm losing my way

It's calling me to die

Oh I don't know why,

I fade it all away, I fade it all away.

"Strawberry Sunrise" - Electrasy.

Over. Finito. And all other ways of saying that there will be no more.

[Beeslayer@cableinet.co.uk][1]

I feel I have to say some more thank you's at this point...thanks to Kris, who gave me so much help throughout this thing...and who had to read quite a few of the re-drafts of one particular scene...

Thanks to everyone who gave me feedback - especially Amanda, Kate, Saz & Rikki. I got 30-ish pieces of feedback for this thing all together, and the majority of it was from you guys - thanks. Lijia (best piece of feedback i've had. Ever.) & Ali also said very nice things. II now have a very happy inbox. LOLO

Umm....I don't know if anyone on Napster has that Electrasy song, but if you find it, I recommend that you dl it, because it's gorgeous. 

   [1]: mailto:Beeslayer@cableinet.co.uk



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